


Crash

by 1lostone



Series: Lost's Trek Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I Blame Tumblr, Lost is an angstwhore, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash, Spock is pining, i blame jlm for everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7415353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/pseuds/1lostone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a tumblr prompt- </p><p>Anon- K/S angst: You’re the angstwhore, give me some good h/c (not wump necessarily but happy ending.) </p><p> </p><p>Kirk and Spock crash land on a planet to disastrous results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash

**Author's Note:**

> I asked my followers to [ prompt me on tumblr](http://1lostone.tumblr.com/). K/S preferably (who doesn't love these two idiots?), although other ships are welcome. Any rating, any kink, any trope- the tropier the better! Here's what I came up with.

Jim knew that things were bad.

The shuttle had been off course, and systems had been offline for several hours when life-support failed. The subsequent crash through the planet’s atmosphere and into its ocean had just been the cherry on top of a particularly sucky ice cream sundae.

Jim was pretty sure that he was concussed.  He knew that his collarbone was broken, and something was fucked up on his spine, making sharp, shooting pains every time he kicked his feet. He tried not to, but floating wasn’t working. If he just moved his one arm (not the one with the broken collarbone) then they started to go under.

Vulcans’ bone density and overall muscle mass made it incredibly difficult to keep Spock afloat.

Whenever Jim shut his eyes, he remembered the impact of the shuttlecraft against the water. Jim had watched, helpless, as Spock struck his head twice on the console, the safety harness breaking on impact. The water had started to pool into the shuttlecraft immediately; the vacuum filling almost more quickly than Jim could manage to swim. He’d done it without thinking about it- grab Spock’s hand, untangle himself from his own harness, and use his legs to push them up where the last bit of oxygen had been, before gasping air and diving down through the hole in the shuttlecraft.

Spock was a dead weight in his arms.  Jim hadn’t cared about the pain he was causing himself when he kicked towards the surface, his lungs burning with the lack of air. He wasn’t going to do this without Spock, and that was all there was to it.

But that had been awhile ago.

Now, Jim tried not to notice how much of the green blood pooled around them, blossoming like macabre roses in the slightly off-colored water.  He could feel Spock’s heart thudding in his side, like some sort of trapped bird. Spock’s lungs moved under Jim’s awkward hold, but the respirations were very, very slow.

It had been painful to tear off the rest of his shirt, but Jim was too afraid that he’d drop Spock otherwise. Strips were shakily tied together, knotted, and knotted again around Spock’s arm and his own unbroken one. It wasn’t meant to do much other than tether the two of them together in an emergency. The rest of the shirt Jim used to stop the wounds on Spock’s head- applying pressure only by tying a smaller strip around the makeshift bandage.

 _Fuck_ , he was thirsty.  He’d been drifting here for a day already. It had been light when they crashed, had gone through dark, and was light again.  His tongue felt like it had swollen to the entirety of his mouth.

The craziest irony: suck in an ocean of water, but unable to drink any of it. The water reeked of sulphur, and Jim wasn’t desperate enough to try it.  At least that was some luck; its chemical composition kept anything nasty that would have been drawn to the two tasty bits of prey (both of them bleeding, one copiously) bobbing, helpless, in the water. Of course, that same chemical composition could be poisoning the two of them for all Jim knew.

He’d kill for a tricorder. At least then he’d have something to do.

Jim squinted up at the sky. His face was burned from the bright, unforgiving suns, his lips dry and cracked. Once, there had been clouds orange and red in the faintly yellow sky, but they had blown away.

He hissed when he realized that Spock had sunk again, the small waves lapping at the Vulcan’s chin. Jim huffed a breath, tried to tell himself that it didn’t really hurt all _that_ much, and pulled Spock into a better hold. Jim tightened his grip so that he hung onto Spock around his left shoulder, across his chest, and under his right armpit, grasping the material on the skin above Spock’s ribs.

The worst part of all of this, was that he knew there was no way that they’d be rescued. The Enterprise didn’t know where they were. Hell, they didn’t even know where to begin to _look_. There was no last minute save that could possibly happen, no miracle beam-out... nothing.

He’d felt like this before of course.  Even now the memory made him uncomfortable. That time, he really _had_ died. At least for a little while. Jim didn’t really like to think a lot about that time in the warp core, or just after. He usually remembered in flashes, though, usually when he least expected it.  Spock’s face. Jim’s hand trying the ta’al for the last time, and Spock’s hand through the glass echoing the same.  Spock sure as hell never spoke about what had happened either, but it was there in the way he’d stand just a little bit closer to Jim, or the tiniest quirk of his lips that was a Vulcan’s version of a shit-eating grin. Nights of chess, days filled with adventure and camaraderie. They’d finally had the friendship the older Spock had hinted at, and Jim didn’t want to give it up.

Jim tried to stay awake- he really did. His head throbbed, his throat was parchment, and he had left seeing double behind at least an hour ago, having moved onto seeing triple.  There were three moons on this planet, and that made the tides a little weird, but there was certainly no land in sight. Not a rock, no  sandbar or helpful flotation device... nothing.

The sun went down two hours ago.  Give or take.

The stars were something that Jim usually found comfort in. They never changed, but always looked different, depending on where he was. He’d seen planets dying and observed suns forming. He’d seen nebula so beautiful that it had made his breath catch in his throat. He’d been born in the stars, and he thought it was pretty damn fitting that they’d be the last thing he’d see when he died.

Spock’s heartbeat was slowing.

Jim had tried to ignore that fact an hour ago, when he first noticed it, but there really wasn’t any point in lying to himself anymore.

Not that Jim was giving up- he wasn’t, but... but he wasn’t going to give himself false hope.

No win scenarios?

He’d _tried_ , goddamnit. He’d gotten them out of the shuttlecraft, and had kept Spock afloat, kept _himself_ afloat. But... two days of this and even Jim was finding it hard to stay positive. He found himself pulling at the tether. If he had the moisture in his body to spare, he would cry.

“Spock?”

Was that his voice? That croaky thing? It didn’t even sound like him. Hell, it didn’t even sound like him after a week’s long alcohol-poisoning-was- _not-_ a-dare- _damnit_ -Jim shore leave.

There wasn’t any answer of course.

Not a twitch, not a moan, not a polite request to stop clutching him so tightly. It almost made him want to squeeze a little harder, so that Spock would do something but Jim knew the truth. He did know it, but was having trouble admitting it:  Spock wasn’t responding because he _couldn’t_ respond. His internal injuries must be severe for this sort of thing to actually happen, ‘cuz Spock was one tough bastard.

Jim’s arms weighed a hundred pounds each. It was very tough to keep holding on. Jim tried to switch his grip, but it didn’t seem to help. It _hurt_ now to move his arms, although the bottom half of his body was strangely numb.

Jim leaned down and kissed the top of Spock’s head. He missed; his depth perception was off for some reason, and his dry, chapped lips brushed the tip of Spock’s ear.  

“‘M sorry... Spock,” Jim croaked. He would hang on until he absolutely couldn’t anymore. The tether was more loose than he wanted it to be, but it would be okay. It would.

Jim found that his blinks were getting longer and longer.  The amount of  stars doubled, then he would blink his eyes back into focus, and everything would look right.  For a few minutes.

He went under once.

Adrenaline sparked; some stubborn part of him fought to keep both him and Spock afloat. Jim coughed, spat out the foul-tasting water, and clutched Spock a little more tightly.  Jim kicked out, unthinking, and cried out when he heard the _snap_ of a bone breaking. The nerves in his spinal area protested, and Jim found himself coughing even harder,  until lights popped behind his eyelids like fireworks in the midnight sky.

He calmed, eventually, but couldn’t kick to tread water. Spock’s chest barely moved, and lay there, absolutely no help.

Time passed, but Jim was exhausted.

He wanted to keep fighting, but. But he was so tired.  He might have spoken Spock’s name. He might have only just thought it.

It didn’t matter.

The next time the water crested over Jim’s head, he sunk, slowly drowning.  He thought he felt Spock jerk as the water went over their head, but Jim could no longer remember why that was so important.

Jim’s final glimpse of the stars that he adored so much were blurry, until they faded from his gaze, one by one.

 

* * *

 

Spock absolutely _loathed_ being wet.

Once, Nyota had sent him a picture of a sodden feline. Its fur was in disarray; one of its ears was folded over in a way that looked rather uncomfortable, and while Spock’s natural inclination was not to anthropomorphize the creatures of which he came into contact being that he was neither human nor prone to fanciful notions, the look on the feline’s face indicated that whatever emotions it experienced were quite obviously less than optimal.

Spock’s eidetic memory flashed to that image when the water crested over his face. The sulphuric content burned; both his lungs and the thin membrane under his eyelids were agonizing.

Spock jerked, realizing at once what was happening.  Instinct had him swimming to the surface with one arm, while the other clutched Jim to him.

Jim who had been under water.

Jim _who_ _was_ _not_ _breathing_.

Spock could feel that Jim had cleverly devised some sort of tether, so that Spock’s formerly unresponsive body was physically in his presence, but it hinted of the possibility that Jim had been injured so severely that he did not trust his grip.

Spock broke through the water’s surface and immediately turned Jim in his arms. As always, once he came out of a healing trance, his body had almost an overabundance of hormone levels. His synapses sharpened with laser-like focus, adrenaline forcing his once lethargic limbs into action. He used to need a sharp strike against his face to wake from such a trance. His father did. Spock, however, once he had hit his own maturity, found that his human half allowed him to heal and wake more or less naturally. 

It was dark. The planet’s three moons were not tremendously bright, but once Spock blinked the water out of his eyes, he was able to see that they were in what looked like a pool of water.  There were waves in the water from Spock’s swimming,  but not large ones, which fit with what he’d observed: the water was dense, almost oily.  There could be a land mass out there, but it was much too dark to tell.

Very well.

They could not have been under very long. Calculating for the possibility of Jim’s taking water into his lungs before Spock’s weight forced him under the water’s surface, Spock knew that Jim’s best chance of survival was to ensure that he was breathing. It was not possible to take a pulse in the water. There was a possibility that Spock could sustain rescue breathing (while not ideal, it would work; Spock was hardly going to drop Jim and swim for shore) while they were in the water, depending on Jim’s injuries.

Spock breathed deeply for a moment, then altered his grip on Jim’s body, so that his Captain was on his back. He could see in the darkness that Jim had been severely injured, but knew that the breathing was imperative. Humans, compared to Vulcans, had a much smaller window of optimal oxygen deprivation; they simply could not go as long without oxygen as Vulcans could.

Spock was able to hold Jim with one arm, covering his nose with his fingers, to restrict the airway.  He ensured that none of the water would enter Jim’s lungs via his nose, stretched his head towards Jim’s mouth, breathing two short breaths. Fortunately, Dr. McCoy ensured that all members of the away team were able to do emergency life-saving measures; in his words, Jim was ‘too goddamn accident prone for ya’ll not to know this shit.’

Spock waited for a small count of five, then breathed again. In this case, Spock knew that since chest compressions were impossible, and he couldn’t tilt the airway properly, the potential for pneumonia was at a staggering 82% given Jim’s allergies and childhood asthma.

Still, Spock would rather Jim take his chances with pneumonia, as long as they made it off of this thrice _bath’paed_ planet.

Slowly, the sky lightened as dawn broke across the sky.

The temptation to squeeze Jim’s chest was hard to stifle. Spock was terribly afraid that Jim had internal injuries, and found it extremely difficult to remain calm and continue the breathing.

Spock was careful to breathe for himself. He ruthlessly shut down the memories of Jim locked away from him, of Jim dying- of being too late _again_ and concentrated on what he could control; the constant oxygen to Jim’s brain.

The miniscule gasp from Jim’s body caused Spock to freeze in place. He adjusted his grip again, and bent to Jim’s mouth, feeling for breath.

Some kind of aquatic bird cawed, and Spock had to stifle the rage he felt; his logic and control had quite obviously left him and Spock found that he did not much care.  He waited a moment, then listened again.

There it was.

Faint.

Like the measured, majestic wings of a _lanka-gar_ before it took off in flight, Jim’s heartbeat thudded slowly in his chest.

The relief was so profound that Spock’s own heart almost seemed to lodge itself in his throat.  Jim coughed weakly, vomiting up water tinged very faintly pink with his blood. But his heartbeat increased, and he was breathing on his own.

Spock closed his eyes for one moment, allowing himself to rebuild his shaky controls.  He inhaled deeply, and tested the strength of the tether Jim had managed to tie around them. It would do for what he needed.

Spock tightened his hold on Jim, arranging his Captain’s body so that there was no chance that water would touch his face, ensuring that Spock’s hand rested directly over the precious thud of Jim’s heartbeat.

Were he prone to the human need for figurative and metaphorical wish-fulfillment, Spock would say that he held Jim’s heart in his hand. Spock allowed himself a wry quirk of one eyebrow. More apt would be to avow that _Jim_ held _Spock’s_ heart, and had done so for four-hundred eighty-two Terran days.  

He began to swim, heading towards the far-off land mass.  Spock vaguely remembered attempting to steer the shuttle towards what looked like a forested area, but when the systems crashed, he was unable to maintain helm control. He had been able to send the emergency signal beacon, but the systems had failed soon after. Still, the crew of the _Enterprise_ had found her wayward captain with less, and Spock knew that they would find them soon.

Relatively. 

Some of the strength of his healing trance had left him, but Spock allowed that pure stubbornness took its place. With Jim fighting to survive, and Spock awake to provide for Jim’s safety, it was simply inconceivable that he and Jim would not live. Full stop. Spock would not allow any other outcome of their crash landing.

Spock was perhaps ninety feet from shore when Jim made a small pain-filled sound. Spock froze, turning his grip so that he could look at Jim as he regained consciousness. Spock tread water carefully, looking sharply at the man in his arms. He was very gentle with Jim’s obviously broken collarbone. Spock attempted to keep Jim as still as possible while he fought unconsciousness, coming back to him with another pain-filled murmur. 

Jim tried to lick his lips, but made a face at their dryness. He had been almost 80 hours without water.  Spock knew that was his first priority once they reached land and he had ascertained the extent of Jim’s injuries.  He could hope that the _Enterprise_ or some other rescue ship would be along within the next few days, but he was prepared to scavenge the Class L planet for edible vegetation and shelter- for as long as it---

“Spock?”

For a moment there were too many words jumbling around in Spock’s brain and he could not decide what to say.  The smile felt strange in the musculature of his face. If he had smiled before, it paled in comparison to the bright burst of joy Spock now experienced when Jim’s bright blue gaze focused on his.  

**“ _Jim_.”**

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed. I'm putting all the tumblr prompts in one series, and will tag appropriately. Please subscribe so that you know when yours is filled!


End file.
